


Winterhawk Valentines 2017

by Oroburos



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9648272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oroburos/pseuds/Oroburos
Summary: Short little one-shots for the "#kisses for cupid" valentine event on tumblr.





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Cooking a Meal

It’s so simple, how it started.

Clint is never really “conscious” for the first hour or two that he’s out of bed. Bucky would watch him move on autopilot; alarm, kitchen, coffee, microwave burrito eaten at the sink, bedroom, shower, clothes, range. Every day the same.

At first Bucky had only watched for information, still half the Soldier, gathering intel and filing it away. Later, it became curiosity. The archer’s automatic, robotic patterns reminded him of himself, of going through the motions of life when everything still felt like a dream. He wondered if Clint dreamt any during his mornings, or if it was all just fuzzy static.

And it was fascinating, seeing the light finally turn on in his eyes in the middle of a shot, the weapon in his hand as much a part of him as his arms and legs, and just as easily controlled.

And then of course Bucky started messing with him.

At first it was just moving the coffee pot. That morning, Bucky sat in the kitchen and watched as the archer shuffled in, reached for the carafe and frowned. It was almost cute, how he looked so confused for a moment. Bucky had fully expected him to notice the machine had moved just two feet down the counter, but, Nope. Clint blinked a few times, then just went for the frozen burritos like he was just moving on to the next part of the checklist.

He complained of a headache the rest of the day and Bucky felt guilty. So, in penance, the next day he intercepted Clint at the counter with a warm, fresh-brewed mug.

He froze up when Bucky pushed the mug into his hand, blinked at him in sleepy confusion. “Coffee,” Bucky encouraged, his voice still rusty from disuse. Clint took a sip, made a small hum, and continued on with his zombie routine.

Three hours later he sought Bucky out and frowned at him. “Did you make me coffee this morning?”

“Yeah.” Bucky answered tentatively. “That okay?”

Clint appeared to think about it a few beats, then nodded. “Thanks.” 

From there it just seemed natural to start making him a proper breakfast. And then somewhere between the bacon and the eggs, Clint started leaning on him while he waited. A solid warmth, pressed up against his back, and Bucky felt that hard chunk of ice in his core start to defrost.

“Thanks, Buck,” Clint mumbled, took his plate and slumped over to the island bar to eat, now not-quite halfway to waking.

And that’s when Bucky knew he was gonna be in trouble.


	2. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Stargazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This one is set vaguely in my Coffee + Cigarettes 'verse, but the only thing you need to know is it's no powers AU, they're not Avengers, Bucky isn't the Winter Soldier but Clint still has his circus & criminal background)

“We there yet?” Bucky asked, amusement tinging his voice.

Clint took his eyes off the road a moment to shoot his boyfriend a fond smile, not that Bucky could see it with the blindfold still in place. “Almost.”

Bucky hummed and shifted slightly in his seat. Clint appreciated how much trust it was taking to go on this little adventure. He reached over to take Bucky’s hand and held on for the rest of the journey.

When they reached the wide-open field that was their destination, Clint guided Bucky out of the car still holding his hand. “Can’t I take this thing off yet?” Bucky asked.

“Just a sec,” Clint answered, maneuvering Bucky to where he wanted him – where the view was best. “Okay. Look up.”

The wide-eyed, awestruck expression that spread over Bucky’s face as the blindfold fell away was completely worth the trip.

“Holy fuck,” Bucky breathed.

Above them, the clear night sky stretched from horizon to horizon. The waxing moon sat bright and heavy just above the distant line of hills in the east. They were so far outside the light pollution of the city that the sky was completely filled with stars, far more than Bucky – New York born and bred – had probably ever seen in his life. 

Bucky craned his neck up so high trying to take in the sights that he fell backward, right onto his ass on the ground. He hardly seemed to notice. Clint smothered his laughter and settled to the ground beside him. “Nice view, huh?”

“It’s beautiful…”

Clint smiled at him, squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah…” He looked up to watch the sky. “I spent a lot of nights under the stars when I was younger. Mostly not by choice.” Bucky squeezed his hand at that and Clint knocked his shoulder gently in silent thanks. “Got sick of camping real fast, and I’m still not really a fan.” He exhaled a breath through his teeth, shaking off unpleasant memories. “But I never got sick of the view.”

He felt Bucky shift to lean against him, skin to skin and head on his shoulder, so he turned and pressed a kiss into Bucky’s hair.

“Thanks for showin’ me this,” Bucky said. “It’s…amazing.”

Clint hummed his assent. “Everyone should see it at least once in their lives.”

They sat like that, together in comfortable quiet, surrounded by the night sounds and each-other’s soft breathing, until the moon rose high in the sky and the night’s chill drove them back towards civilization.


	3. Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 3: candy box

"The day after Valentine's" was one of Bucky's top favorite holidays, ranked just before "the day after Easter" and just after "the day after Halloween". So he had a sweet tooth, sue him. Who could pass up half-price candy?

He wandered through the aisle with a basket full of pink, red, and purple, everything from sugar hearts to cherry cordials. He was wondering if maybe he should pick up something non-chocolate to eat that night, when he reached for the last box of novelty shaped chocolates on the shelf and encountered...another hand.

He looked over. The guy attached to the hand -- a scruffy looking blonde with bright purple hearing aids in his ears-- looked back. Bucky gave him a once-over, and noted that the man's basket held a similar array of discount candy to his own, with the addition of ramen and instant coffee. _'Broke college student?'_ Bucky wondered. His clothes had enough holes and stains to fit the profile.

Then Bucky realized he'd been staring for an awkward amount of time, and was about to apologize when the man smirked at him and said, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Bucky looked up in shock. The man had a challenging, borderline-leering glint in his eyes, and Bucky peered at him. _'Is he trying to scare me off,'_ Bucky questioned, _'by playing gay chicken?'_

Well, two could play at that game. Bucky let his gaze roam over the man's face -- which, honestly was pretty attractive. "You look really cute with those freckles across your nose," he shot back.

The man's grin widened into something delighted-looking for a second. They were still both holding on to the stupid chocolates box. "I really like your hair," the man said, "it looks really soft."

Bucky matched his grin, let his gaze drift strategically downward. "Your ass looks real nice in those jeans."

"They'd look a lot better on your floor," the man said. A second later he realized his trip-up and frowned. "I mean, the jeans would--aw, man!" He let go of the box with an exaggerated slump. "Okay, you win." He shot Bucky a sincere smile -- which looked good on him, Bucky had to admit -- and then winked and blew him a kiss, before spinning on his heel to walk off down the aisle.

Bucky stared off after him a moment. His ass really did look good in those jeans. _'....Fuck it.'_ "Hey!" he called out. The man looked back, and Bucky held the box of chocolates up and shook it. "We should split this."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bucky stuck the box into his basket and stepped forward with his hand extended. "My name's Bucky."

The man smiled, sauntered back over and shook his hand. "Clint. So, uh," he glanced around the fluorescent-lit grocery aisle, "you come here often?"

Bucky smiled. This looked like it was going to be fun.


	4. After-Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for your dose of angst.   
> The rest of these will be delayed since I'm moving this weekend and I'm not sure precisely when I'll get internet at the new place. Hopefully quickly!

Hospitals universally sucked.

Bucky hated them, hated the ever-present antiseptic smell, the bland walls and cold floors, the haze of misery that permeated the air. He hated the nurses running around everywhere and how easily voices carried through the halls. He hated the machines, the tubes, the needles, the sensors and bags of medicine and the heart monitor with its steady _beep, beep, beep,_ even though he gave himself a headache from how hard he listened to the sound. He especially hated the ugly and uncomfortable plastic chairs, like the one he was currently sat in while he watched Clint's chest rise and fall.

Hospitals were the _worst._

He had settled into a Mission calm; watching, waiting. He kept the thumb of his flesh hand pressed to the pulse point in Clint's wrist so he could keep time with the _beep beep_ of the monitor. Machines could be hacked. Bucky didn't trust it.

He didn't pay attention to time passing. People drifted in and out of the room, saying words he didn't listen to. He took care of his body's functions as became necessary. Nothing mattered but the man in the hospital bed. Everything else fell away.

It was dim and quiet when Clint finally stirred. Bucky held his breath until Clint's eyes finally, slowly, blinked open. Clint made a confused and annoyed-sounding noise, and Bucky exhaled and slumped all at once like his strings had been cut, left himself gulping for air -- he hadn't realized how long he'd been holding his breath.

Clint's gaze flicked over towards him at the noise. His throat and mouth worked, made a scratchy noise that must've been Bucky's name.

Bucky moved quickly to help Clint sit up a bit, supported him and helped him drink from the cup that had probably been sitting on the side-table for hours... no help for it now.

"What happened?" Clint whined when he was done. "Why'm I in the hospital?"

Bucky eased Clint back down horizontal again and set the cup aside before responding. "You fell off a building again."

Clint blinked slowly. "Don't remember falling..."

"Technically the building collapsed from under you when the missile hit it," Bucky deadpanned, as if the images of Clint being swallowed up by a fireball wasn't a new and horrifyingly-vibrant addition to his nightmare fuel.

"...Huh." Clint stared up at the ceiling a moment. "Others?"

"Nat got banged up a bit," Bucky reported. "Gonna be on crutches for a few weeks. And Steve took some debris to the face. But aside from that, everyone's fine."

Clint nodded, then turned his clear-eyed gaze to Bucky's face. "You?"

"Been better," he admitted quietly.

"Come here," Clint sighed. Bucky went, exhaling in relief as he leaned over and pressed his forehead to Clint's. He felt Clint's hand settle on the back of his neck, grounding him. _'He's here. He's safe.'_ "You did the thing again, didn't you," Clint said, a gentle chiding in his tone. "You went away in your head."

Bucky stared into Clint's eyes, so clear and bright and _alive_ that he felt himself start to crumble. "Almost lost you," he whispered, roughly.

The corner of Clint's lips quirked up. "Didn't." Then he pressed those lips to Bucky's own, far too breifly, but it was still like a breath of air when he'd been suffocating. "Here, come here."

And Bucky knew he should protest, should stop Clint from shifting over to make room for him on the narrow bed, should yell at him to be more careful with his injuries. But Bucky was selfish. He just, he needed--

Clint murmured at him and held him close as he climbed onto the bed, as careful as he could manage. He let Clint wrap an arm around him to keep the IV and other cords out of the way and let his head rest gently on Clint's shoulder, ear pressed to his chest. He knew he was selfish, letting Clint fuss over him when it was him all banged up. But Clint was safe and he could breathe again.

He fell asleep to the steady rhythm of Clint's heartbeat in his ear.

 


	5. Standard Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: flower allergy. In SPACE, with SPACE FLOWERS, because SPACE!   
> (yes hi I'm back now)

 

Clint had spotted the star-shaped blossoms and immediately thought of Bucky, because they were the exact same shade of so-pale-it's-nearly-colorless steel-grey as his eyes. The crew had been tromping around the only inhabitable rock in a nameless star system in the Perseus Sector, chasing a Hydra rumor, as usual. The rumor had turned out to be a wash, but Steve had ordered a search of the area anyway despite the bio-scans failing to pick up anything larger than a bird. So, yes, Clint really _hadn't_ had anything better to do than to wander around and look at flowers.

As he'd approached the plant he'd noticed they gave off a slight bio-luminescence, which was just extra cool. He had scanned the glowing silver flowers for toxins, poisons, xenobiological interactions, and even airborne aphrodisiacs before gathering a handful. Unfortunately, he must have missed something, because he'd presented the faux-bouquet like they were in some cheesy romance drama, and Bucky had taken it with a smile and raised it to his face to take in the aroma, and then had almost immediately gone glassy-eyed and broken out in a rash.

So now the flowers were suspended in an isolation field and Bucky was sitting half-naked in a glass-walled quarantine cell, slathered with green medical gel and giggling hysterically.

Clint was going to die of mortification, assuming Steve didn't kill him first.

"What," Steve sighed, hand over his eyes, "have we said about handling unknown flora?"

"I scanned them!" Clint flailed his arms defensively. "All the scans came up clean!"

"And yet..." Steve waved indicatively, damningly, at the evidence before them.

"This is great!" Bucky's voice carried through the intercom speakers in the quarantine's glass wall. "I haven't had a sick day since we were kids and Stevie gave me his pneumonia!" He swiped at some of the salve on his face. "What's in this stuff, anyway? It tickles."

"Don't touch it," Steve admonished through the intercom. "The tingling sensation means it's working."

"Bucky, I am so, so sorry," Clint said, leaning on the glass.

Bucky grinned and blew a kiss at him. "Aw, it's okay darlin'. I still love you."

Clint glanced nervously at Steve. "He's uh, he's a little delirious I guess--"

"Stow it," Steve cut him off. "Everyone on board knows you two have been bunking together for the past three months. We live on a space-ship for godsake. Did you think these bulkheads were soundproof?"

Bucky cracked up laughing. "My fault, that one's all on me. I make him loud." He smiled at Clint's sputtering and linked his hands behind his neck, lounging backward like a well-satisfied cat. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Not one little bit."

Clint groaned and beat his forehead against the glass, and Steve threatened to chuck the both of them out the airlock.


	6. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 6: love song

Clint was a shower singer. Bucky discovered that the morning after they fell into bed together in a half-drunk, adrenaline-fueled, "oh god we almost died" post-mission high. That was not the incident that got them to finally acknowledge the mutually-unspoken _thing_ between them, but it did start a slow and steady shift in the air.

Bucky took up the guitar, initially because he wanted to do something with his bionic arm that wasn't killing. But also, he wanted to hear Clint sing again.

It was cautious and quiet at first. Bucky would play softly in the mornings, and as Clint got out of the shower or wandered into the common room he'd pick up the tune, humming the beginning and throwing out a stanza or two. Later, as it became habitual (and as they woke in the same bedroom more and more commonly), he would sing out entire songs (with varying levels of enthusiasm and accuracy). And, eventually, he would encourage Bucky to join in.

And "Bucky finding his voice" became "Bucky coming out of his shell" became "Bucky and Clint singing to each-other over breakfast and at dinner and over mission comms and occasionally in the aftermath of nightmares and panic attacks" became "karaoke dates" became "shower duets" became "soft kisses between whisper-sung words in the quiet of the night".

And one morning, long after they'd given up and merged into one bedroom, and Bucky's guitar sat next to Clint's sport-shooting bow and their shoes were mixed together in a pile on the floor and "is this your shirt or mine?" was a question that didn't always have a clear answer, Bucky watched Clint sleeping. He watched Clint frown and mumble and reach for Bucky in his sleep, watched the calm settle over him as he found the warmth of Bucky's body.

And the song in Bucky's heart went _oh, **Oh.**_


	7. Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Date Night. Continued from "Dawn".

Modern nightclubs weren't exactly like the dance halls of the 40s, but Bucky seemed to enjoy them anyway once he got past the visibility issue. He said the feel of them was familiar -- fast, loud, masses of people all in motion, couples getting closer to each-other than would be socially acceptable any other place. He'd proven a quick study of the bump'n'grind styles, and Clint had been more than happy to let him practice on him as much as he wanted.

Clint's scene was usually more the shady bar with sticky floors and a dartboard type, but he'd grown to love this side of the nightlife. He loved that the beat was loud enough that he could feel it even with his aids turned off. He loved that between the digital disguise masks Tony lent them, the silicone camouflage sleeve over Bucky's arm, and the general trend of New Yorkers to mind their own business, they were as good as anonymous -- just two more bodies moving together and making out on the dance floor. And he really loved watching Bucky cut loose, let go of all that guilt and fear and doubt he carried around with him, and get that happy glow around him that made it easy to see why he was such a lady-killer back in the day.

It sure as hell gave Clint those funny swoopy feelings in his chest. But then, Bucky made him feel like that every single morning when they woke up beside each-other.

When the heavy petting got a little bit too heavy Clint dragged Bucky out into the night, hand-in-hand and laughing like teenagers. The neon lights lit Bucky's face up in a hundred different colors and, _damn_ , there was that swoopy feeling again. Clint might not have been the smartest guy on earth, but he wasn't blind. He knew he was in love. And he knew Bucky loved him back. They'd both said it -- in words, even, like responsible adults and everything. But there was love and then there was **_Love_** , you know? And Clint knew, with no doubt in his mind, that he was absolutely head over heels in the kind of love that was irrevocable, that made you think about growing old together and get excited about the idea of matching furniture and joint bank accounts. It was the kind that burned steady, the kind that said: _"You. You're it. Meet me at the end of the aisle."_

But Clint also knew better than to say anything about it. He didn't want to push too fast, too soon, too hard, and risk Bucky not being ready. If he reached for more than where they were, and Bucky pulled back? If he _lost this_? Clint knew that would break him irreparably. Better to keep it quiet.

The thing about that kind of love, though, is it still demands an outlet. So Clint dragged Bucky to a cheap hotel room and let gravity crash them together. He loved and kept it quiet and tried to say it with his body, resolved to do his damnedest to make Bucky feel every inch and every breath of all the words he couldn't, wouldn't say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued in the next chapter.


	8. From Now Until Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 (final day): Proposal. Continued from "Dusk".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minorly NSFW due to post-coital pillow talk. nothing explicit.

He was boneless and electrified, every nerve lit up from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He felt weightless yet alight, like fireworks. Every touch came with a tingling undercurrent; the sheets beneath him, the man beside him, the hand moving in comforting circles over his bare skin.

His world had been well and thoroughly _rocked_.

“You okay?” Clint asked, a touch of amusement to his voice. And Bucky could only cover his face and make a helpless little noise.

Clint laughed quietly, his voice still low and rough which did Bucky’s current state no favors. “That good, huh?”

Bucky stared at him. The sweat of their exertions had made his dirty blonde hair stick up in spikes. He was still flushed, eyes still a little glassy and dilated, and he was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen in his entire goddamn life. “I love you,” he breathed, and that feeling was everything in him. It filled him up and overwhelmed him and spilled out of every pore.

“I love you, too,” Clint smiled -- so self-satisfied, the punk -- and kissed his forehead.

“I _**Love** you_ ,” he repeated more forcefully. Clint needed to _know_.

“I'm gonna get you some water,” Clint said and got up. Bucky whined at the loss and fretted piteously until he came back. He didn't want the stupid water. He wanted to curl up in the home that Clint's two arms around him made and never leave.

“Uh oh, did I break you?” Clint teased as Bucky did just that.

He shook his head, forehead pressed to Clint’s chest, legs twined together. “No. You fixed me.”

Clint’s clever fingers went to gentle work detangling the mess they’d made of Bucky’s hair. The gentle pressure on his scalp was soothing. “You fixed yourself,” Clint told him patiently. “I just gave you a distraction.”

It was an old argument, well-worn territory. Bucky wasn’t having it today. He looked up at Clint and caught his attention with his eyes. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he told him. “You give me a reason to get out of bed in the mornings.”

The corner of Clint’s mouth twitched. “Think I give you more reasons to stay in bed…”

Bucky knocked his shin. “Shut up, you know what I mean.” Clint laughed at him, but went quiet. Bucky went quiet too for a minute, feeling the drag of Clint’s fingers through his hair, and let the thing he really wanted to say bubble up:

“Marry me.”

Clint went completely still. Bucky held his breath. Clint’s hands settled on him and he said _“Buck…”_ like it hurt.

“I mean it,” Bucky insisted, trying to pin down Clint’s avoidance with a hand on his hip. “I’m never letting you go and I want the whole world to know about it.”

Clint hid his face, but he held Bucky a little closer. “You’re crazy on sex hormones…” he murmured.

Bucky shook his head again. He could sense the doubt and insecurities rolling off of Clint like physical waves. “I’m not. I’m _serious_. I _mean_ it.”

Clint sighed. “How ‘bout you ask me again when you’re not all fucked out, huh?”

He grumbled about it, but Bucky wasn’t deterred. If waiting was what he had to do to get around Clint’s crippling self-esteem issues, then that was what he was gonna do.

 

\----

 

He lasted nearly two weeks.

There was a party at the Tower. Avengers only, but still crowded enough to drive Bucky out onto the balcony for some air (there were a lot of Avengers these days). Predictable as always, Clint came out to find him after about five minutes.

He leaned his forearms on the railing next to Bucky, pressed shoulder to shoulder with him. “Nice night,” he said casually, and Bucky smiled.

_Always lookin’ out for me, even when he’s tryin’ not to make it look like he is._

“Yeah,” he agreed, turning to face Clint and lean sideways against the railing. “Just needed a breather.” Clint nodded, then seemed content to lapse into silence, so Bucky took a breath and braced himself. “Actually...there was somethin’ I wanted to ask you.”

Clint turned to look at him curiously. Bucky reached into his pocket and brought out the little box he’d been carrying around since the day after that night in the hotel room.

Clint’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open.

“Told ya I meant it,” Bucky smiled, softly.

Clint stared at him in shock. “Buck--”

“Hang on,” he interrupted, “I wanna do this proper.” He shifted in front of Clint and went down on one knee, never breaking eye contact. And now Clint had a hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, and the lights of the city shone from behind him, softening his edges. And Bucky’s heart was so full it was going to hammer right out of his chest at this rate. “Clinton Francis, you _beautiful disaster_ ,” and Clint laughed through his tears at that, and Bucky smiled, “light of my goddamn life. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to join you in mutual insanity -- from zombie mornings and singing in the shower, to actual zombies and make-out sessions covered in monster slime -- and would you let me tell the whole world how much I love you, every day for the rest of our lives?”

Clint was looking at the ring; a simple silver band that had an iridescent purple sheen when it caught the light. Bucky knew it wasn’t particularly fancy, but neither of them got caught up on material possessions. It was the symbolism that counted. Clint reached over and took the ring, smiling. “You asshole.”

“Hey,” Bucky protested, “I’m trying to be romantic here!”

Clint’s smile widened. Bucky watched him expectantly, nervously. Clint slipped the ring onto his finger, flexed his hand a few times, and finally said, “Yes, okay, I’ll marry you.”

And Bucky surged up and pulled Clint into his arms and kissed him and kissed him and he wasn’t _ever_ letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> the end. :D thanks for reading!   
> You can find me on tumblr @storyhoard


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